The Consequences of That Night

you deserve, Emma. I love you, sweetheart.
    Blinking fast, Emma stared out at the dark lake. The last streak of silvery moonlight stretched out before her like a path, like a single forlorn tear, leading to an unseen future.
    * * *
    Cesare held her hand tightly, unable to look away from her beautiful face.
    Emma was wearing a beautiful wedding dress, holding a bouquet of pink roses. But somehow, as they left the chapel, her fingers slipped from his grasp. She ran ahead of him. He called her name, and she glanced back, laughing as she disappeared in the mist. He saw her plummet down the chapel steps, down, down, down, her bouquet exploding into a million pale pink petals falling thickly like snow.
    His feet were heavy as concrete as he tried to reach her. It seemed an eternity before he found her, on a soft bed of grass. But something had changed. Emma’s beautiful face had turned hollow-cheeked like his mother’s, her eyes blank with despair like Angélique’s. Emma was dying, and he knew it was his fault. Desperate, he jumped on a boat and took off across the lake to find a doctor. But halfway across, the boat’s engine died, leaving him stranded and alone, surrounded by dark water, and he suddenly knew he was too late to save her. He looked down at water like black glass in the moonlight. There was only one thing to do now...only one way to end the pain...
    With a shuddering gasp, Cesare sat up straight in bed.
    Still panting for breath, he looked out the window. The sky was blue. The sun was shining. He heard birds singing. It was a dream, he told himself. All a dream. But his body was covered with cold sweat.
    Today was his wedding day.
    He looked down at the bed where he’d made love to her last night. Empty. He put out his hand. The sheets were long cold.
    Cesare suddenly wondered if he might have woken her with his nightmare, tossing and turning or worse, crying out. He clawed back his hair, exhaling with a flare of nostril. The thought of being so vulnerable was horrifying.
    But not as much as what he was about to do today.
    Naked, he got up from the bed, and his legs seemed to shake beneath him. Downstairs, he could already hear guests arriving. Some twenty people, friends and acquaintances from London, Rome and around the world, would be staying at the villa for the next three days. Today, there would be a long prewedding lunch, followed by a ceremonial church wedding at twilight in the small, ancient chapel on his estate. Tomorrow they’d have the civil service in town.
    The next three days would be nothing but one party after another, and the thought suddenly made him grit his teeth. He’d chosen this. Shouldn’t he feel satisfaction, or failing that, at least some kind of resigned peace?
    Instead his body shook with a single primal emotion—fear.
    I can do it for Sam.
    Closing his eyes, he pictured his sweet baby’s face. Then the woman holding his son in her arms.
    Emma. Her beauty. Her kindness. She was the perfect mother to Sam. The perfect homemaker. The perfect lover. He thought of the ecstasy he’d experienced last night in her arms. But reflecting on all the ways he valued Emma didn’t calm the frantic beat of his heart. To the contrary. It just made him feel more panicked.
    He’d sworn he’d never have a child. Then he’d found out about Sam.
    He’d sworn he’d never marry again. Then he’d proposed to Emma.
    He’d sworn their marriage would be in name only. Then he’d swept her straight into bed last night.
    What was next? What fresh vow would he break?
    There was only one left, and it was a line that he could not, would not cross. Because if he did, if he ever let himself love her, he’d be utterly annihilated. Just like before...
    With an intake of breath, he paced across the bedroom, the same grand room which, decades before, had belonged to his parents. So in love, before everything came crashing down.
    Whether by death, or divorce, love always ended. And ended in pain.
    Cesare couldn’t let himself love Emma. It would be the final bomb exploding his life into pieces. Any time he tried to love someone, to depend on them, they left—as far and fast as they possibly could. Through death.
    He couldn’t survive it again.
    His heart pounded frantically. He looked out the window, past the overgrown garden, toward the lake. He should never have brought Emma here. Never should have let himself see the bright laughter in her eyes as she held their baby yesterday, carrying him